And Ne'er Say We Die
by Phantom Myst
Summary: Will is determined to gift Elizabeth with immortality, and so seeks the Fountain of Youth. Unfortunatly, a son, two old friends also attempting to gain immortality, and an old rival cause complications. Look for the return of the deceased James Norrington
1. Chapter 1

_And ne'er say we die…_

"William, the sun."

Will stared out past the mast, the deck's railing his support. The sun of the Land of the Dead was making its last moments known, it's tired, pale orange light failing to warm his skin. Will's exhausted eyes slowly drug back to Bootstrap Bill, gazing at his father with as little life as the sun that now died.

"I know, father, I know," he answered quietly, gathering a rope within his hands and securing it carelessly about his hips, then tying it about the railing. "There's plenty of time. There always is…" His words trailed off, their meaning laced with a tone of wanting and longing.

Bootstrap watched his sun move about securing himself the Flying Dutchman, his brow cinched tight. William's movements were slow in their usual, quick, daily tasks. His son's hands were lean and strong, however gentle, and skilled in their movement aboard a ship. But this past year, their skill had become less and less smooth, and William had become dull and dispassionate. Bootstrap had watched his son wear beneath the constant voyage between the worlds, his eyes become less and less bright. Young William's time away from Elizabeth, tending to the dead, providing passage for all those lost at see, had drained the handsome, brave man of all his joy in life.

Bill had hoped that the approaching ten year marker would liven his son's spirits, but it had done little more than make William's pain more stabbing. His son would glance at the notches taken from the bow's wooden rail, and turn away, his face haggard with agony.

"William," Bootstrap said in his gruff voice, setting the wheel in place before taking the distance between himself and his son in his large stride. "You realize that when this sun sets, and the next arises, you can see Elizabeth?"

"Aye," William answered numbly.

"What is it that has been bothering you, William?" Bootstrap asked, leaning against the railing beside Will.

"It is my burden to bear," William answered, his tone laced with sarcasm. Bootstrap sighed, gazing out at the water ahead, reflecting the sun that divided the living world and the next.

"William, I was not there for you as a child. When I chased off to go piratin', I gave up my chance to be your father. But now I have that chance…if you'll give it to me."

"You have paid your debt for ten years now, father," William answered. "You are free to go when you wish."

"The better the next time we make port," Bootstrap answered with a half grin. When William failed to acknowledge the remembered moment, Bootstrap hung his head and clasped his hands. "The way I see it, ten years service on a ship is not nearly enough payment for the debt I owe you. Let me pay that debt."

"It's been ten years since I've seen her, and I can hardly remember her face," William whispered brokenly. "Ten years before the mast, and I have though of nothing but her ever minute of each god forsaken day." Bootstrap gazed at his son with puzzlement.

"Aye, William," he answered. "But within the hour you may see her again. What pain be there in that?"

"She will be well into her midlife, and I have not aged a day since I last say her… nor shall I ever. I will loose her one day, father. And I will have seen her no more than a handful of times when that day comes."

"Son, she may have changed, but her love for you will have remained, and will stay as young as you. There is little more one could ask for," Bootstrap said quietly, his words hesitating. "I know what it is like to be unable to die. And now I know what it is like to know that one day my life will come full circle one dreaded day. I have been on both sides of life and death, and I can tell you only this: Your mother's love, even after her death, was all that kept me sane."

William turned his dead gaze to his father, old wounds panging within him. His father had once abandoned Will's mother to live a dishonorable life, and never once looked back. Yet here he claimed her love was all that there was to him. Still, the man was attempting to make his amends and he could forgive him that.

"And what do I say to her when I leave her once more to grow old and tired for another ten year's worth?" Will asked in a weary voice.

"You tell her how much you love her, Will," Bootstrap answered. "There is little more one can do." Will's eyes closed, and a single, silent tear trickled down his cheek. Bootstrap gazed at the sparkling, lone trail and pushed his old body away from the rail, turning back to secure himself to the ship's wheel. There was no more he could say to his son. He had hoped, this once, to be of help to William, but he had failed. Perhaps he would never be able to be the father that William needed.

"Yes there is," Will's voice said quietly behind him. Bootstrap turned slowly to look at his son, whose eyes were cast up at the quickly sinking sun, their orbs suddenly bright and fierce.

"William…" Bootstrap began, a coal of dreading falling into his stomach.

"Father, tie yourself to the wheel, quickly!" William ordered, tossing a coiling of rope at Bootstrap, who caught it out of habit. "I'll not loose you to Davey Jones' Locker!"

Fastening himself deftly, Bootstrap turned his sight back to his son, who was shouting reminders to the Flying Dutchman's crew. The sudden flair in his son's being worried him. While not rash, William had a tendency to follow his foolishly brave heart rather than his head.

"What are you planning, son?" he murmured roughly to himself as the ship over turned and a great green flash blinded him.


	2. Chapter 2

The Flying Dutchman broke the surface of the earthly water in its awesome tones, it's spiked-toothed front end slicing through the water to top the calm sways. His heart pumped with a fierce need to be near Elizabeth again, his gut writhing with the possibility that had dawned upon him. But he would not abandon his duty just yet. He was to care for his crew and the souls of those dead a sea. Otherwise, one corrupt would gain the sea as a body, and he did not care to begin growing tentacles or starfish upon his face. He brushed his hair back with a hand, combing through the wet tendrils and glancing about the ship to be sure every one of the Dutchman's crew was accounted for.

"Swinder, men accounted for?" he called, standing at the stair down the helm.

"All twenty-two crew well and abroad, Captain!" the man answered.

"Then pitch the sails and catch every last wisp of air in their canvas!" Will demanded, pushing off the top stair will vigor, and hitting the deck running. He flew about his men, all of whom worked at their steady, quick pace, most unaware of their captain's eagerness to get ashore. Many had lost count of the days long ago. Will did not see fit to hurry them, but rather moved about them finishing up any task not yet done to hasten the work.

Bootstrap watched them move about, sorry that his old body, now aging in quick succession, as was normal for a human of his age, could not help with the chores. Rather, he could, when pushed, and when William was not watching his father closely, Bootstrap would re-tie a knot that a less experienced sailor had fumbled. William was aggressively protective and caring for his father, whose years suspended without age, were finally catching up to him. Bootstrap did not begrudge his son the intense care he administered him, and rather grew prouder every day still as he watched William pay the same fierce care and devotion to every member of his crew. He cared for these men as brothers, and it showed in his daily actions among them. William was never cruel, torturous, or unfair as Jones had been.

The men that now crewed the massive ship's structures were mainly made of new members, though three of the Dutchman's sailors had chosen to remain. William had granted each sailor a choice, and accepted each in turn. The larger number of the men, now once again human in nature, had bid death away longer than they cared for, and William had ferried them to the other side. Slowly but surely, over the ten years of caring for the souls of the dead, the crew had been rebuilt to an even number of twenty-two. Still, William never encouraged any man to dodge death, rather he often attempted to calm every man's fear of the afterlife, and accepted only those determined to escape death. But never would William turn a soul away entirely, leaving it to drift, lost and alone. He had once told Bootstrap that his experience returning from the land of the dead, seeing those that should have been ferried by Jones, floating as ghosts in the currents of the water, had cut him deeper than any sight then or after.

Bootstrap still caught his son gazing about as the dead were delivered, his eyes searching desperately, turning away with sunken shoulders. Without exception, every voyage to the Land of the Dead had William searching the souls for Elizabeth's father, but never was he found. He always hoped to find Governor Swan, and return to Elizabeth with the greatest prize he could offer her. Yet each endeavor across the worlds was empty in this cause. Bootstrap felt desperately for his son. William took so much weight onto his shoulders, and never heaved an ounce of it upon anyone else. The past conversation with his son had been the first in years in which William had revealed any of his agonized thoughts.

"Land," Bootstrap murmured to himself as the fog cleared and the green island upon which Elizabeth had promised to wait appeared. A sudden knife of worry stabbed into his belly for his son. What if Elizabeth had not waited? What if something had happened that prevented her from receiving William? Growling slightly to himself, his hands shifted their grip upon the helm, and he steered the Dutchman straight and true towards the island. Elizabeth would be there. It was not her nature, as was Calypso's, to abandon the man she loved so desperately.

"There she is, father," William's voice came rushing at him as his son tied the last of the ropes down and stopped abruptly behind him. "I knew she would be there."

"She would not abandon you, William." _And I'm sorry I was the one to plant the fear of abandonment deep within you. _Bootstrap looked ahead and squinted as the fog's last mists clung about the ship. Indeed, there she was a small figure, waiting in the distance.

"The Fountain of Youth," William murmured behind Bootstrap. The older man turned his gaze sharply to his son.

"What about it?" he prodded, though his heart quickened, already well aware of William's plan now as his gaze returned to the island upon which Elizabeth stood. She was in clearer focus now, and his heart gained from quickened to stilled in a painful succession. His eyes widened and he looked back at William, who was gazing towards his wife, but was not seeing her as she stood upon the cliff edge.

"I'll give it to her," William answered, his voice determined. "Then age and time will never come between us…nothing will." Bootstrap swallowed heavily, unable to look back at his son.

"Except perhaps…a son?" he asked quietly.

"What?" Will's voice was truly puzzled and his gaze shot straight and pure towards his love, next to which stood a small figure, no higher than her slim waist. Joy and doubt washed over him in an overwhelming wave, and he leaned against the railing for support. His heart was pounding with a painful force and his gut had turned icy cold as a realization hit him. A son. How was that to fit into his plan?


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth gazed out across the beach, the water lapping at her ankles, her gut twisting and turning painfully in a mixture of complete excitement and anxiety. She knew Will, and she knew beyond a doubt that he would be the father every young boy dreamed of. Nevertheless, what would his initial reaction be? They had a single day upon which to spend with each other, and to be truthful she had naught but taking her ship-bound husband to her bed upon her mind. Never before had she wanted to turn her son away, but what would Will want more- his son, or his wife?

She looked down at the boy that clung to her skirts in nervousness, and she rested her hand upon his sweet brown-curled head. Despite her worry, she could not help but smile as she felt the stiffness of the child's nervousness. Rather than face his fear with foolish rushing forward to face what caused him to quake, her son faced his worries with a straight-backed strength that was lined with a sometimes irritating patience. Her heart quenched painfully for a moment, realizing once more, that her son had been named quite appropriately. James.

She had named the boy not after his father, but after James Norrington, her previous fiancé. It had not been a barb towards Will, or anyone else, but a way to give James Norrington a final gift of thanks for saving her life. He knew that he would be giving his life for her, and yet he had shot down the rope with his perfect aim. If nothing else, James had deserved one last pardon and reassurance of forgiveness for helping Becket when he had. She closed her eyes against the tears that were riding in her throat, remembering the pain of realizing that a man she had considered an older brother as a child, and a dear friend later in life, had given his life while saving hers. Watching him sink to the floorboards of the ship, a good man himself, and the only link to her father that she had left, something within her broke. She had then sworn as the water lapped at her mouth, the salt of the sea mingling with her tears, that she would avenge them both.

But how would Will handle the naming of his son after Elizabeth's first fiancé? She had never explained James's sacrifice to Will, choosing to keep it close and dear to her heart. But she supposed now she would have to release her painfully dear memory or chance Will's pain. Looking back out at the sea, she watched the Flying Dutchman grow closer, and her heart thumped heavily within her chest, now for the mere elation of seeing her husband for the first time in ten long, agonizing years.

Will's chest was tightening painfully, his heart swelling with the exhilaration upon seeing Elizabeth, along with another prominent organ south of the equator. Yet, through this, a searing coal of worry had dropped into the pit of his stomach. A child was bound to blow a hole in the ship of his excited plans. He would not leave Elizabeth behind in this search. If he had to call down Calypso herself and demand Elizabeth's presence upon the Flying Dutchman, he would. But knowing Elizabeth's fierce loyalty as he did, he knew she would not leave without the child. Would it be fair to chance the child's life, not knowing what lay before them?

Pushing the worrying thoughts aside as the Dutchman neared the beach at a quick pace, Will raced to the bow of the ship and scaled the sides, hanging from the ropes by a single hand, squinting to take in his wife's face. She had not aged, but rather had matured into a handsome woman, her bone structure more set, her figure fuller, but still slim and lithe.

The impatience to see Elizabeth, hold her against him, to taste her lips and smell her hair, was becoming too much to bear. His body was agitated and fighting and finally, when he simply could not bear it, he looked back at his father. Bootstrap nodded once, understanding Will's need, and Will propelled himself from the ship's side and dived into the water.

Seeing her husband leap into the water's swells, Elizabeth's need to be with her husband bit too deep to ignore, and she gently unlatched herself from James and ran forward into the sea, splashing and fighting at the push of the waves coming in toward her. The water's level quickly came to her bosom, but she was oblivious to its sudden chill. Finally, she met Will in a flury of water, foam, and feverish kisses.

Their desperation to be in each other's arms was slightly dangerous as they roughly pulled, handling one another with such a need and desire that they found themselves slipping them beneath the sea, their mouths latched together so tightly that the water swirled about them as they twisted together beneath the surface, but the liquid never entered their mouths. Finally, the human need for air forced them back to the surface and Elizabeth pulled away and looked back at the beach, where James was watching with that oddly charming patience and aloof quality.

"Will…"

"Our son?"

"Yes, Will, he is your son," Elizabeth answered quietly.

Will gazed at the boy standing on the beach, waiting silently for his father's attention. The fear that he had held before about his son's place in his plans melted away as he was over come with a natural love for the boy. He was the image of his mother, his strong facial structure having an oddly beautiful, but not feminine quality to it.

"His name?" When Elizabeth did not answer immediately, he turned his head to look at her with a puzzled face, his hand tightening about her waist. Why should she hesitate to tell him his son's name?

"His name is James, Will."

Will's brows pulled into a deep V and a knife sliced into his side.

"Norrington?"

"Will, I did not mean it to hurt you. I will explain it, but not here, and not now. Your son awaits you," his wife answered in her commanding presence. "Do not let this be a problem between you and your son."

Will continued to stare into Elizabeth's eyes, thoughts pitching into turmoil. Had she meant it to show him that she had loved Norrington? So far as he understood, the man had betrayed them all to Becket, and aided in the murder of Elizabeth's father. What had happened upon the Flying Dutchman that she had not told him?

"Will," Elizabeth's voice bit at him sharply, jerking him from his thoughts. "Do not bring this worry upon our son. He deserves his father's love." Her eyes were fierce with demanding. Nodding slowly, Will turned to meet his son.


	4. Chapter 4

The water streamed from Will's clothes as he dragged himself ashore, a cold knife stabbed and fixed within him, thoughts galloping about his head madly. With each of those thoughts, the imaginary knife scraped at the heart that was absent within his chest, and laid in that of another chest. His physical chest may hold an empty cavity where once his heart beat, but that heart was still well enough alive and felt the pain as though it still pumped within him. Davy Jones had attempted to avoid feeling by freeing himself of his heart, but once the deed was said and done, it was proven that he could not escape his emotions- nor could Will.

Will closed in closer to his son and gazed down silently at the boy, unable to quite comprehend that this straight-backed, chin-raised boy of a full nine years and then some had been brought into the world of his doing. Who had thought that the immortal captain of the Flying Dutchman could sire a mortal boy?

He knelt to one knee to look his son in the eye, struck by the child's resemblance to Elizabeth with his high cheekbones and Govoner Swan's flint grey eyes. There was little of Will in him at all, with his slim, lean structure and curious patience. Only his curling, thick dark brown hair held Will's inheritance within him. Will's own bandit-brown eyes closed over slightly, but he pushed the cutting emotion away. Elizabeth could not help what her son had inherited from whom, nor was it…James'. The boy's name was a heavy kick in the gut every time he thought it. Still, he could not allow the boy to see the hurt that the boy caused him. He could only allow his son to see the natural fatherly love that Will had felt sweep over him upon laying eyes on James.

"Son," Will spoke evenly, his eyes still glittering with more than the sting of the salty water.

"William Turner, I suppose," the boy answered, his voice fighting to be strong, but quavering slightly. "Captain of the Flying Dutchman." Will swallowed heavily. Would his son see him as legend before he saw him as father?

"And your father," Will answered hesitantly. What was he to say to the son that he had been unable to help rear for the first ten years of his life?

"You're just as Mother described you," James said, a small catch in his voice the only testimate to the child's nerves. Will smiled slightly at this.

"And how was that?" he asked, glancing up at Elizabeth, who had followed him through the crashing tides.

"Handsome, brave, honorable, soft spoken," James answered, his eyes scanning his father. Elizabeth strode to her husband and placed a hand upon his lowered shoulder.

"Gentle, kind, loving, forgiving, and faithful," she finished the list. "Everything I ever wanted." She gave her silent laugh, her rich voice quirked, a hand grazing his tied hair. Will's own hand rose to rest upon her now fuller hips, his groin stirring with even that small touch. "And everything a son could want."

Will's shoulders fell just the barest of inches, and he looked back to his son. The boy had been named just so to his personality- James was everything James Norrington had been in the short time Will had known him. His longest period with the man had been one with a man embittered and drunken, seeking anything that would return him his honor. Still, despite the betrayal he had raised with Beckett, he could forgive the man his ambition. All that Norrington had known was wealth, culture, and status. Without even trying, Jack Sparrow had ripped that all away from Norrington, and the man had been left with the death of twelve dozen men on his shoulders and the ruin of his life at his feet. It had been his part in aiding Beckett, even after realizing just what the despicable man planned, that Will could not forgive. Nor could he forgive Norrington the part he played in the death of Elizabeth's father, who, though somewhat lacking in faith of Will, had been a man that had cared for nothing in the world more than his daughter.

"Shall I show you about the Dutchman?" Will offered, hoping that love of the sea and ship might peak a comfortable conversation between himself and his son. James looked past Will, to his mother, who nodded with the full-lipped smile he knew so well, despite the ten years apart.

Will stood and placed a gentle, callused hand upon James' shoulder and led him toward the surf, upon which rode two boatful of the Dutchman's crew. He hailed the nearest of them and held it steady while the last of the men emptied eagerly upon land. He smiled and clasped a few on the shoulder, wishing them luck in their day of life upon land. In an instant of paternal instinct, gathered the boy up in his hands and carried James through the water, placing him within the small boat before turning to offer an already-soaked Elizabeth a hand, who nevertheless accepted the gentlemanly gesture. He gained the boat himself and took up the oars, striking out to sea, towards the Dutchman.

Bootstrap gazed out from the Ship's bow, having opted to stay on board, not wishing to become a distraction to Will on land, and having nothing to look for upon land. He had been at sea so long, the land was a strange, uncomfortable thing to him. The lapping, swaying movements of the ship were the only thing his old ship-bound legs and feet were fit for now, and he was more than happy to live and die on the Dutchman, now that its crew was beneath the fair rule of his son.

Said son was now rowing a boat with Elizabeth clasped closely to his side, and the child facing them. Bootstrap gazed at the boy and a sudden realization hit him heavily: he was now a grandfather. How was he to take this new position into stride? Was he fit to be the loving mentor of William's son?

The boat was fast upon the ship, and Bootstrap rushed to aid Elizabeth, William, and the boy upon the ship. Elizabeth reached the deck first, and she took his aged hand in her own slender grasp. He watched her as she topped the snubs that made a ladder up the ship, and clenched his teeth. She had seen Bootstrap at his worst, growing into the ship, illusioned and nearly mad. She had been witness to the murdering of the man that had saved Elizabeth from Bootstrap himself, and that weighed heavily upon him. But now, as she set her light, hazel eyes upon him, her mouth gave him a sad smile. He knew as well as she that while she forgave him, she would always be aware that he would have killed her, and had killed someone in her stead.

"Elizabeth," he greeted in his scruffy tones. "Welcome back aboard the Dutchman."

"Thank you," she answered with a regal nod of her head. Her voice was choked despite her haughty presence, and Bootstrap cringed. He had thought that after ten years away, events' would fade, but now they bit him as harshly as the day they had happened. He hung his head and turned to help the boy that was followed by William.

Bootstrap's old eyes searched for a resemblance of Will and found only William's thick, curling hair. The boy was otherwise naught but a male version of his beautiful mother. Nevertheless, he smiled his experienced, tired smile and offered the boy a hand. The child gazed at his scarred, lined hand with sharp grey eyes. Unsure of how to react to his grandson's hesitation, he simply waited. Finally, the boy took his hand in a heady grip and heaved himself aboard. William shadowed him without help from Bootstrap, who caught his son's eyes, asking, uncertainty lining their faded blue color. Will's own deep brown eyes were a mixture of unreadable emotions. They flashed with love and joy, but also hurt and worry. William shook his head and Bootstrap glanced sharply over at Elizabeth and the boy that stood close to her side, stiff-backed and set-jawed.

"James," William said in his even, gentle tones. "This is your grandfather. Bootstrap Bill." He smiled slightly, sure that the boy had heard of his father within the legends that generated among young boys. The child, James, gazed up steadily at Bootstrap, who stood in his slightly hunched way, his worn old body lacking the luster that he was sure the stories commended him with.

"William Turner," James said by way of greeting. Bootstrap's eyes widened, and his breath caught. It had been over forty years since he had heard that name applied to him. He stepped back just slightly and sized the boy up in a more detailed way, night quite sure how to take this child into stride. He was nothing like his father, and Bootstrap barely knew how to be a father to William.

"Yes," he answered shakily. "I was William Turner…a long time ago. After I became Bootstrap, I never looked back."

"You're my grandfather," James stated simply. His voice was now deadly calm, and there was no defining emotion to it. He supposed he could not expect anything but numbness in the boy's situation.

"Yes, James," Elizabeth answered. "Go with your father. I'm sure he's eager to show you the Dutchman." The boy glanced back at Bootstrap, then turned back to William and nodded stiffly. William smiled awkwardly and led him forth to the helm. He left Elizabeth's side with a lingering kiss and touch that was so tender Bootstrap nearly flinched, remembering William's mother.

"Elizabeth," he said quietly. "The last time we saw each other…" his rough voice was choked with the memory of what he had done. He had never been able to make his amends, and now that he had his chance he had no clue as to what to say.

"No," Elizabeth said quietly in her cultured voice. "Please don't apologize. It's done. We can only live in the present now." Bootstrap looked down and nodded.

"If it were up to William," he aid hesitatingly. "You'd live for eternity with him."

"I would give my soul to be with Will forever," Elizabeth answered quietly, watching William explaining the different masts and points of the ship to James, who despite his cool appearance seemed interested. She smiled her sad, pouting smile. "But we take what we can and give nothing back. Isn't that what you pirates say?" She walked to the railing and leaned her back against it, running her slender fingers across the smooth wood. Bootstrap followed her over and took her fine hand within his own. She glanced up at him questioningly as he gazed at the smooth, delicate thing that he had seen cause much more than a needle to slide through fabric.

"You are more a pirate than half of the men that crew this ship, Elizabeth," he answered, releasing her hand. "If you were given the chance, would you become one again? Be King of the Pirates again?" His son's wife looked at him with true puzzlement.

"What are you saying?"

"The Fountain of Youth…have you heard of it?"

"Of course I have. Ponce de Leon went in search of it but, but legend says he failed. Why?" Her shaking voice told him she did not have to ask that question. She knew exactly where the conversation was headed.

"William has a mind to find it for you," he answered, nodding his head in William's direction. "He wants to give you immortality."

Elizabeth looked back up at William as he guided his son's hands in one of his expertly tied knots. Her lips opened slightly and closed, but words failed her. Bootstrap stared at her as tears leapt to her eyes, and she leaned against the railing heavily. He said nothing, but placed an understanding hand upon her shoulder before striding away. It was a hefty thought, immortality, and even heavier when one had time to make the choice to grasp that immortality in hand. William had not had a choice- it was simply thrust upon him. But Elizabeth had the right to the choice William did not have. He only hoped for William's sake, that she said yes. But what of the child? James was but nine years old, young and still fresh to life. What to do about him? Was it fair to allow the child to die knowing his parents would live forever? Shaking his head, Bootstrap came up behind William and watched the boy tie the knot he had just been taught with a steady, correct hand.

"The boy is a natural, William," Bootstrap said with a smile on his worn face, and his son nodded with pride swelling within his chest. "You at least passed that on to him." William's gaze hardened slightly at that. His son understood the undertones in his father's voice. Bootstrap had not meant it as a barb, nor a suggestion that Elizabeth had been unfaithful. He had simply noted the little resemblance to William that the boy held. It would be a sore spot for William in the years to come. Every father hoped their son to be their spitting image of themselves, and Bootstrap had been fortunate in that. When he was younger, he had been a mirror image of William. He placed his hand upon William's back and smiled. "Skills are better inheritance than resemblance, son."

"Would you have me handsome or skilled, father?" James asked quietly, his grey eyes biting. William flinched slightly.

"Then thank the gods I do not have to choose," William answered. "For you are both." He turned to Bootstrap. "Father, will you show him how to pitch a sail? I must speak with Elizabeth." Both father and son nodded to William, and he strode off to his wife, who stood with her back turned. Burying his worried deep, Bootstrap faced his attention upon James once more.

"Well then, son. What do you know if pitching sails?"


	5. Chapter 5

The sun was brighter, more blinding than any sun he had yet stood beneath, it's light reflecting of white sand. While the bright rays burned his eyes, the sun did not warm his skin, the air about him chill and damp. His blue and gold brocade jacket did little to save him from his shivering, and the sun did little to warm him. Still, his quaking was not due to chill nor moisture, but fear and uncertainty.

He had always only known security and definite orders given or taken. Now he stood alone and cold in this odd, isolated place, without friendship or human contact. He had lost everything: the love of his life, his position, his honor, and he freedom. The only thing he had left now was the sword that swung at his side, it's sheath pounding against his leg with every pointless step. Where he was, what he was, and why to either of those answers, was a mystery to him, and so he did not try to explain it to himself. And so he settled to wander aimlessly with no destination or reason.

Will watched Elizabeth carefully, reading every inch of her face, looking for any answer to his suggestion. It was one that he had hoped she would take into stride without hesitation- but that had been before his son had become a thorn in his plans. It was not that he did not love his son, nor that he wished the leave the boy behind, but rather, he, like Elizabeth, had no clue how to handle this.

"Elizabeth," Will began hesitatingly. "We can keep him safe, just until he is old enough to decide."

"Will, we will not be able to walk away with a vile of the water for our own," his wife answered, placing her slender, scarred hand upon his. Her touch was invigorating, and his gasped a small breath as he stepped in closer to him, resting her head upon his shoulder. "How would we keep him safe, Will? Away from everything that might come after him?"

"We could leave him with someone," Will suggested half-heartedly.

"Would you toss your son away so easily?" Elizabeth asked, her head snapping up. Will looked away, sighing.

"I would never want my son tossed away," he said quietly. "But we cannot promise him safety. And I will give you up for nothing. _Nothing_." He laid a gentle hand upon her neck, smoothing over the skin with his thumb. His eyes rose to meet her own, and froze when he saw the hurt and anger that lay there.

"Will, this is our son," she answered in her whispering pout. "I cannot believe you. James is strong and brave, and will not leave our sides. He is a good boy and will be a fine man, but how can he become one if you are not there to teach him?" Will flinched, his stomach tightening.

"James."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, and tears sprang forth, though she did not allow them an inch to fall.

"Is that what this is about?" she asked fiercely. "Because of his name? _I_ named him, Will. He did not name himself. Do not take this out on James because of my bad judgment."

"And what makes it bad judgment now? Why was it good enough to name the boy after Norrington when he was born?" Will snapped, his hand moving down to her arm and grasping it firmly, but his hold was loose enough for her to jerk away from.

"James saved my life, Will," she said in a murmur. "I didn't do it to hurt you."

"He helped kill your father," Will said, his face puzzled. Elizabeth shook her head.

"No," she objected, turning her face away. "When the crew and I escaped the Dutchman, it was James that released us." Her eyes shut, and she turned her head, opening her pain-filled eyes upon Bootstrap. Will looked between hi distant father and his wife. She had never told him this before. Just what had happened that Bootstrap had failed to explain in their ten years together? "Your father caught us and began to raise the guard. I started to go back, but James shot the rope down, and…" she paused, her voice choked, her eyes squeezing tightly shut. "Your father stabbed him." The words were short, painful, but not bitter.

Will's gaze swung around to his father, the words almost a physical blow. In all that he had understood his father had gone through before, now he understood the weight he had carried, and just how much Will himself had misunderstood. He should have known Norrington, brave, honorable man that he was, however embittered, would never have helped kill the father of the woman he had never stopped loving. Still, the painful knowledge that his wife had felt the need to name their son after the man…

"Why our son?" he asked in a quiet voice. "I do not care if he carried my name. You could have named him after Gibbs, and I would have been just as happy. But Norrington?"

"He was a good man," Elizabeth answered somewhat defensively. Will's jaw set stiffly.

"A good man. That's your defense for everyone isn't it?"

"What?" Elizabeth gasped, her hand gripping his.

"Jack was a good man. Why not name him after him?"

"Because Jack never gave his life over for one that had once abandoned him!" Elizabeth spat at Will. She took a breath and spoke again, but this time with a controlled tone. "It was a last pardon, a gift to James. He saved many men that night, and he lost his life for it. I'm sorry Will."

Will gazed down at her with hard eyes, feeling that far away, missing heart pounding painfully.

"On the day of our son's birth, the first thing you thought of was Norrington?" he asked brokenly. Perhaps his absence had been too much for Elizabeth to bear. Perhaps she had remembered lost feelings for Norrington. But now his wife shook her head vigorously and took him by both sides of the face and planted a deep, passionate kiss upon his mouth.

"No!" she insisted. "I had decided upon it long ago. Will, I felt so horrible. James had given his life to save me. I wanted to give him at least one thing in return." Will took in a deep, agonizing breath. Elizabeth turned his face downwards to look at her again. "You don't think I love him? Will, enough! I love you. No one else." Her voice was almost exhasperated, and her commanding spirit was returning to her eyes. Memories of their marriage amidst the chaotic battle upon the Flying Dutchman flooded over him, and he took her up in an embrace that would have put Jack Sparrow to blushing, his kisses so passionate they were nearly deadly in their force.

Ten long years he had been away from his wife, and in the short time he had been with her again, he had been hit with overwhelming information and emotion. Now, having faced short but painful trails once more, his could not stand to be apart from her any longer. When they finally broke their kiss, he glanced over at Bootstrap and the boy, both entirely engrossed in Bootstrap's teachings. He quietly, but forcefully took the very willing Elizabeth by the hand and rushed her down the stairs to his cabin upon the Dutchman and bright her flush against him once more. His fingers words maddeningly at the stays of her dress, her own fighting to tear away his shirt. Between growls of annoyance at clothing and kisses, they made their way to the small bed. Their lips never left one another's, their bodies tangled so efficiently and desperately that they could not tell where they separated. Eachs' skin was hot with longing and wanting, both over joyed to throw away, even if momentarily, their problems and be together as they had not been since their last day together on that beach, where Will had left his heart with her, beating and very much alive.


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth fastened the stays of her dress slowly, hearing the rustle of her husband's clothes behind her. A cold, sinking feeling settled in her gut as she stood and rustled her skirts down about her legs. She was slowly becoming aware of the fact that having a son meant there would be very little time to savor one another's company for a very long time. She felt Will move up behind her quietly, slowly lacing his hands about her waist, his lips laying lightly upon her shoulder. Despite her thoughts, and her already satiated body, she felt herself shiver in response to his touch. Reaching a hand up above her, he cupped Will's cheek, stroking the stubbled skin with her thumb.

"Will," she whispered. Her husband made a wordless sound, burying his face within her hair. "Your father once said that I could not follow where you go...why?" Will stilled beneath her hand, sighing.

"No living person is meant to cross the Green Flash," he said quietly. She turned in his arms and looked at him with an all too familiar look of determination.

"I crossed it before," she answered.

"And for that the gods hold your name in their hands," Will growled in answered. "Were I able to safely bring you with me, do you not think I would have had you by my side these ten years?"

"When you spoke of the Fountain of Youth, you said 'we'...but you really meant 'you', didn't you?" Elizabeth whispered, her upper lip curling in it's usual attractive way when something upset her. "You never intended upon taking me with you."

"Elizabeth, I cannot," Will whispered fiercely, a plea lacing his voice.

"Have I not proven myself to be capable? Have I not fought by your side on our wedding day? Can you not travel where you please?"

Elizabeth's voice was rising with her temper, and Will laid a desperate set of fingers upon her lips to quiet her. She may have aged in the ten years, but only to a fuller, more stubborn and magnificent woman than he had ever thought possible. Oh, how he wished he could have spent those years with her, growing accustomed to this change...

"Aye, the Dutchman may sail on whatever course I set her mast to," he answered in as calm a voice as he could muster.

"Then why, Will? I fear no dangers nor gods, so tell me why you refuse me!"

"Carrying men to their resting place is a terrible burden, Elizabeth. Every man on this ship knows death by its true name," Will said, his voice faltering, desperately searching or a way to explain his reasoning to her. "When you sail on the Dutchmen, every man who's life passes through this hull becomes another memory, another life that you have lived. You carry their burdens, their worries, their fears, and...their sins. Every sin that they have committed in their lifetime is passed onto you. The gods do not forget this, and they will judge every man that sails beneath this mast by choice as though those sins are their own."

"What?" Elizabeth's unbelieving voice whispered in the dim light of the ship's belly. "They would judge you for the sis of others?"

"It is the price one pays for eluding death by choice, Elizabeth," her husband answered, his voice heavy, and suddenly so very, very tired. "The reward for accepting death as it comes is passage into the next world without judgement." He paused, eyes locked firmly to the floor. "I will not allow that judgement to be passed to you, Elizabeth. The single day every decade spent with you is the only time you may safely see the hull of this ship." He last words were equally as determined as Elizabeth's, and his hands squeezed her sides to emphasize them.

In a sudden moment of sick realization, Elizabeth realized the terrible burden which Davey Jones had carried those many, many years. It was no wonder the man became corrupt beneath the weight of the thousands of lives he must have encountered over the years. Yet still, she could fault him for Will's short, but no less painful death at his hands. Despite the warm skin beneath her hands now, and the living pair of eyes before hers, her heart clenched painfully at the memory of Will's life draining frm her hands. But more painful than this was now being aware of the torment through which her husband lived every day of his immortal life.

"Is that all?" she asked, fighting the knot that formed in her throat as she attempted to speak. "Then I come with you. After all...I can walk on land where you cannot. I would think that will be useful when we find the Fountain." She gave a half heart smile and a laugh in her breathy, alto voice. For a moment, her determination had faltered as she realized the fate which she was stepping into, but the wondrous feeling of her husband's skin against hers was enough to convince her otherwise.

"And James?"

Will's words sliced her to the quick, and she realized she had not thought of her son in the moments. How easy to forget the presence of a third party when all you could focus your thoughts upon was the love of your existence.

"James will not suffer the burden that the Crew faces."

A deep, scratchy voice came from the doorway, and the lovers looked over to see James standing in Bootstrap's shadow, his eyes carefully observant and quiet, perfectly aware of what had occurred no more than ten minutes previously. The boy was eerily intelligent and mature, but it was a fact that Elizabeth had come to recognize and respect, but one that Will found somewhat unnerving, quickly stepping away from Elizabeth, though keeping her hand tightly clasped in his.

Bootstrap placed a hand upon the boy's shoulder, his face set in grim lines that spoke of his dissapprovement of the plans. Though he may not agree, both Will and Elizabeth feared not objection from the older men. He would support his son's decisions no matter their risk; it was part of what he considered his debt to his abandoned son.

"When a completely innocent life is lost, such as that of a child's, and it steps upon the bow of the Dutchman, that life remains safe and unmarred by the sins of others until the dawn of his eighteenth birth-day."

"Well, I suppose that settles it," Elizabeth said, her heart pounding.

Will gazed at her with sharp eyes that searched for any uncertainty in his wife. She was rushing into a choice that would change the course of her life, as well as their son's as quickly as she had rushed into his arms....and with equal certainty. Nothing would change her mind now, even knowing the consequences of her actions. Will had his wife and child in his life once more. He could only pray that their plans would fld out without falter- though a pirate's life promised little more than danger.


	7. Chapter 7

"ELIZABETH!"

The cry of a man lost in desperation and madness, surrounded by nothing but his guilt-ridden hallucinations echoed across the vast sandy flats of Davey Jones's Locker. A cold breeze gusted across the cracked white plains, swirling loose sand particles about a man dressed to the hilt in rusted, decaying brocade that sat crumpled and defeated. A strong gust plucked a wig that hung loose and dingy from his head, skittering it across the land behind him. He shivered, hugging himself as the man clinging by his fingertips to sanity that he was. Memories swirled about in his head as a maelstrom, chasing each other round and round about his fragile mind.

Elizabeth Swan as a twelve year old girl, strangely singing at the edge of a boat of pirates and black sheep...Elizabeth Swan grown into a fine woman that had caught his eye and his heart as no other...Elizabeth turning away to stand with another...Elizabeth dressed as a handsome young man, and yet all the more beautiful...Elizabeth returning his first and final kiss just before the blade had pierced his heart...

"ELIZABE-"

"Ah... poor James Norrington..." A woman's raspy, alto voice spoke from behind him, her heavy Jamaican accent halting her words here and there. "My dear Davey Jones kept one last victim for 'imself, I see."

James turned slowly, all his life having long left him. His blurred, blue eyes gazed dully upon a short, curved woman, her dark skin a sharp contrast to the white sand surrounding her. Her hair hung in dread locks accompanied by odd trinkets that continued to hang from her ragged tan bodice and skirts.

"Do you know 'oo I am?" she asked, her hands raising before her ample cleavage. In one long-nailed hand, she cradled a small crab which clicked and clittered quietly, in the other, a locket in the shape of a heart overlain by the veuge face of a hauntingly beautiful woman.

He did not know this woman, but clearly, she knew him, which came as no surprise. Little made sense any longer in these damned depths of the sea into which he had been dumped unceremoniously.

"No," he murmured, uncaring.

"I am she 'oo brought Barbossa back from 'de dead," she said slowly."I am she... 'oo stole 'de 'eart of Davey Jones...I am she 'oo vexes..."

"All men," James finished. She smiled a slow, smirking smile, her teeth edged with the blue paint that stained her lips. "You're Calypso."

"I am," she answered quietly in her thick accent. "An' I come to free you from Davey Jones...Locker." A fierce excitement rose up in James that had not felt in well of a decade, but he quelled it with what little was left of his military control.

"What must I give you in return?" He asked suspiciously.

"Will Turner's 'eart," Calypso answered, her face suddenly becoming cold and hard. "When 'e took 'da name of Captain, 'is 'eared should 'ave become mine. Instead, 'e gave it to ano'er. 'Da sea be mine, an' so 'da souls be mine, includin' 'da Captain of 'da Dutchman!" Calypso's voice rose in a great fury as she spoke, almost undecipherable in it's deepening accent as the ground about them trembled and shook in response to its God's anger.

"Turner is Captain of the Dutchman?" James' min reeled violently, and he fought to hold it in place, cradling his head in one hand.

"Aye," Calypso responded, her voice quieting as she calmed. "'E killed my love-a," she said, placing her hand holding the locket over her heart and drawing out the last word as a caress. "An' took 'is place aboard 'da ship of souls. I knew 'e 'ad a touch of destiny 'bout im, but ne'er did I tink 'e would captain 'da Dutchman. Davey Jones was lost to me...but 'im 'eart always be mine 'til William Turner pierced it an' gave 'way what 'e 'ad no right to give."

James' exhausted mind though for a minute moment on the twisted logic, but he figured a god's logic was not a man's. Still, he hesitated. Had fighting to find the heart of the Dutchman's Captain already put him in a terrible mess before?

"Elizabeth Swan...she 'as 'da 'eared of the Dutchman's Captain," Calypso whispered, her voice stroking his mind seductively.

"Elizabeth?" James' heart pounded furiously as he thought of the woman who had long ago stole his own heart. Yes, it would only make sense that William Turner would gift Elizabeth with his heart for safe keeping. If he could gift Calypso with turner's heart, surely Elizabeth's heart would be open for his own taking.

These frenzied thoughts, intermixed with his desperation for freedom from this wretched place caused his blood to boil, and with a sudden rising energy, he stood, mess though her was, and gazed at Calypso with a fierce determination and longing.

"Aye, she would be yours for 'da takin'," the goddess confirmed his thoughts. "But firs'...Turner's 'eart must be mine."

"Done," James answered firmly.

Calypso took one, then two steps, closing the space between them before laying a kiss over his heart. He felt his heart give a painful jolt, and he gasped, but as quickly as it came, it was gone, and a light blue print of Calypso's thick lips lay stained against his skin.

"Know 'dat if you fail me, your 'eart will be mine, fore'er."

Another cold wind swept across them, picking up sand as it did so, surrounding them with such thickness that James could not see his hand before him. He fought to breath as the sand clogged his airways for a full count of a moment, before the wind died down, and he found himself surrounded now by sand dunes tall as mountains, and the sound of...the sea.

In shock, James turned about and there before him, lapped the sea's water against the sand. Standing at the edge of the water beside a dingy was a tall, intimidating man with a scraggly beard and an obnoxiously large fedora.

"Barbossa," he breathed, taken aback.

'Aye, funny what one does to escape Davey Jones's Locker, eh?" Barbossa asked in his almost nasal tone voice. "I tire of getting lost to find this god forsaken place for that fish wife. Still, variety is the spice of life, as it were. Ne'er thought I'd be workin' with the likes of you, Norrington. Yet here we are, our punishments yet again disproportionate to our crimes. Seems to be my lot in life." James continued to stare at the pirate, unsure whether he was hallucinating once again, or if Barbossa really did preach that much all the time. Barbossa's eyes rolled dramatically, and he sighed loudly. "For gods sake man, I'm here, alive in the flesh. I be no hallucination what caused by this cursed locker. Now get in the damned boat so we can set sail!"


End file.
